


I Know Places

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, hardy x belle, multi chapt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Broadchurch and Secret Diary of a Call Girl. Hardy needs Hannah’s help to bring down the head of Europe’s largest crime ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: resile. Thanks!
> 
> TW: Brief description of a graphic crime in this chapter.

When asked about it later, she’ll say that she knew all along -- there were signs, she had a feeling -- something was clearly off.

But in truth, Hannah had no idea her favorite client was in the mob. Not until DI Alec Hardy told her.

She was sitting in the cafe of her local Waterstones, lazily thumbing through a few home decorating books, when he first approached her. He pulled the chair opposite her away from the table, its legs scraping across the tile floor, and she frowned at his scuffed black shoes.

For a second she thought he might proposition her -- some men just _knew_ \-- but then she saw the warning look in his eyes and stiffened in her chair.

“Belle,” he said, like the word tasted bad in his mouth.

She squared her shoulders and crossed her arms, wondering if she should leg it. But he had that look about him, like there was a load on his back he couldn’t set down, and she’d always had a soft spot for lessening burdens.

Then he flashed his badge and she stood so quickly her chair would’ve toppled over if he hadn’t caught it.

“It’s alright, you’re not in any danger.” He stood, too, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take a seat.” He tilted his head toward her chair. “I’ll explain.”

She was intrigued enough to let him buy her another cappuccino and hear him out. She stacked her books in a neat pile while he stood at the counter, pulling notes free from a tattered wallet. As the cashier counted the change, he scratched the back of his neck and tugged on the beltloop of his trousers. Then he turned and caught her staring, so Hannah ducked her head and glanced away.

When he placed their mugs and various sugar packets on the table she took the opportunity to eye him, reading him like she would a new client.

His clothes were toeing the edge of disheveled, blue button-down rumpled where it was pulling out of his waistband, which sat low on his narrow hips. His actions were assertive and deliberate in an unthreatening way, which, in her experience, meant he’d be a decent shag. And though he tried to hide it with a scruffy beard and a scowl, she could tell his face was handsome -- maybe even beautiful if he smiled.

If he wanted to book an appointment she’d pencil him in, no question. He’d be a challenge, sure, but after doing this job for so long the challenges were what kept things exciting.

The DI placed a photo on the table as she emptied a packet of sweetener into her mug. Hannah rolled her eyes as he pushed it toward her.

“You lot really do that? I feel like I’m in a bad crime film.”

“You know him?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t say.”

“Belle.”

He shoved the photo into his jacket pocket and leaned back in his chair, scowling.

“There’s an expectation of confidentiality in my line of work, which I assume you know since you keep calling me Belle.”

“What’s your real name then?” The corner of his mouth twitched as she raised her eyebrows, holding his stare. “Right.”

“What’s he done, anyway? What’s this about?”

He shifted in his seat and leaned forward, linking his fingers atop the table.

“We believe he’s high up in a known organization that is involved in some very dirty dealings,” he said, voice low. “Weapons smuggling, money laundering, human trafficking. To name a few.”

“He wouldn’t have anything to do with that,” she said, picking at her nails. “He’s a hedge-fund manager. Sits at a computer all day.”

“He’s a known associate of the man who heads up Europe’s largest crime ring.”

She winced and shook her head, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

“But he’s nice.”

Hardy slouched in his chair and took a gulp of tea.

“Even nice people can do bad things.”

***

Alastair was one of Belle’s most loyal clients.

He ticked every box -- polite, well-groomed, great tipper. He told her he traveled a lot for work, but would always arrange his schedule around their monthly overnight appointment at her favorite hotel. And if his plans couldn’t be changed he’d fly her out to wherever he was -- Seville, Amsterdam, Dubrovnik -- and they’d spend the weekend together, gorging on pastries whenever they could drag themselves from bed.

He was funny, too. They’d be lying atop the sheets, naked and spent, and he’d tell her about the ridiculous things that happened in stuffy meetings with his most elite, pompous clients -- even pulling faces and putting on voices so she’d get the full effect.

Overnighters were usually a bore, since Belle never actually _slept_ with clients, but Alastair suffered from insomnia so they’d keep each other company. Most nights he’d wind up typing away on his laptop while Hannah read or sorted through emails on her mobile, until one of them distracted the other from their work and they’d fall back into bed for another shag just before the sun came up.

And each morning, before they left, he’d zip up the back of her dress and kiss the side of her neck, then whisper in her ear. “Until next time.”

***

Hannah finished her coffee and stood, slipping her leather bag over her shoulder.

“Look, I don’t get involved in this sort of thing, DI…”

“Hardy.”

“Hardy, right. Anyway, thanks for the cappuccino, but I can’t help you.”

Leaving the books on the table along with their dirty mugs, she walked out of the store with her mobile in hand, wondering if she wanted to ring Ben or Bambi or Alastair himself. She didn’t realize Hardy had followed her until she felt his fingers on her elbow.

She sighed and faced him, crossing her arms.

“I’m not changing my mind. Find someone else to help you.”

Hardy glowered, then gripped her arm and guided her closer to the building, out of the way of pedestrians on the busy street.

“God, if you had any idea what this bloke has done,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Just last week Portugese police found an abandoned lorry that they think was smuggled in on a cargo ship from Morocco. It’s a massive shipyard car park so no one would have noticed the container for years, maybe, if it wasn’t for the stench.”

Hannah’s stomach dropped and she wrenched her arm free of his grasp. Hardy stared at his hand, as if he hadn’t realized he was holding her, then let it drop. He paused, giving her the chance to walk away, but her legs wouldn’t move.

“When the police arrived they found 12 women -- 12 bodies -- inside the back of the lorry.” His brow furrowed and Hannah closed her eyes, covering her mouth with her hand. “They suffocated -- they were left to die. And Alastair Westfield was directly involved.”

She gasped and turned away from him, fighting back the tears stinging her eyes. A scene played out in her mind of the two of them wrapped in white sheets in a hotel in Nice, comparing passport stamps as they waited for room service to bring more champagne. “This one pops up a lot,” she’d said, tracing the edge of a blue stamp with smudged Arabic script. “You don’t have another girl in Marrakech, do you?” His face changed, features hardening for an instant, then he pulled the passport from her hand and rolled her over, nibbling on her collarbone. “No,” he’d said, smoothing a hand up her thigh. “No other girls -- only you.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” she told Hardy, voice shaking. “He couldn’t be involved with something like that. You must’ve made a mistake.”

“We’ve traced the money used for the lorry to one of his accounts,” he said, voice softer than before. “We’ve recorded phone calls where he confirms his knowledge of the crime. It was him, Belle.”

She spun back around to face him, not caring about the tear running down her cheek.

“If that’s true you’ve got enough to lock him up for years. What do you need me for?”

He took a step back and reached into his pocket.

“This is bigger than him -- much bigger. We’re after someone else, and Alastair can lead us to him. I think you can help.” He handed her his business card. “Think it over, then call me.”

Hannah stood there with his card in her hand, frozen in disbelief, as he nodded at her and walked away.

***

It was 3:37 a.m. when Hannah finally gave up on trying to get some sleep.

She’d dozed off for around midnight only to wake up 10 fitful minutes later, clutching her throat and gasping for breath before realizing it was just a dream.

Sitting up in bed, she turned on the lamp and picked up his business card from her nightstand. She turned it over and looked at the phone number he’d written on the back, _(anytime)_ scribbled beneath it in cramped script.

She hadn’t told anyone about her encounter with the DI earlier that day. Ben rang as soon as she’d got home but he was going on about some football match and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. Their friendship was so shaky now that their romantic relationship had ended; she didn’t want to risk rocking their makeshift foundation by telling him about her potential mobster client and the detective who needed her help.

Hannah knew exactly what would happen -- he’d rush over, concerned for her wellbeing, and they’d drink a few beers and chat until she felt tipsy enough to ask for a cuddle. He’d say yes because he’s too good -- because he always says yes -- and then where would they be?

She considered calling Bambi, but decided she didn’t want to saddle her carefree friend with something like this, especially now that she’s four months along.

So instead of leaning on her mates, she made a cup of tea and sat down to have a long think about what Hardy had told her. She wound up writing a list of pros and cons in red marker on the back of an old bank statement.

Spilling words onto the page dredged up more memories, things that only struck her as odd at the time now seemed more sinister -- that Alastair’s mobile number changed regularly, the way he’d always peer down the hotel hallway before closing the door, the times he demanded she never tell anyone about him, explaining that his wife was growing suspicious.

By the time she’d finished writing her tea was cold and the paper was more red than white. She knew what she had to do.

Sighing, Hannah got out of bed and wrapped herself in her dressing gown. With her mobile and the business card in hand, she walked downstairs and sat on the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest.

As she dialed she wondered why she was putting so much trust in someone she barely knew -- someone who wasn’t particularly friendly, at that. Someone who wore scuffed, ugly shoes.

He picked up on the third ring, answering with a voice thick from sleep.

“Sorry to wake you,” she said. “Tried to wait til morning, but you did say ‘anytime’ so...”

“It’s fine.” Hardy cleared his throat. “No, it’s fine. Where can I meet you?”

“What, now?”

“Yeah. Erm, unless you’re busy.”

At first Hannah thought he was being sarcastic, that she’d have plans at nearly 4 a.m., but then she realized he might think she’s with a client.

“No, not busy. Can you come to mine?”

“I’ll leave in five,” he said. “Should get there by half-four.”

Then the line went dead.

Hannah closed her eyes and slid down on the couch until she was lying flat on her back. He already knew where she lived. He probably knew everything about her all along -- of course he did.

He was just playing along, giving her a false sense of security by letting her hide behind her pseudonym. She waited for the worry to set in, but she felt oddly calm.

After washing her face and shimmying back into yesterday’s jeans, Hannah sat at her laptop to do a little investigative work of her own.

By the time she heard a car pull up to the curb she had read all about Sandbrook and Broadchurch, cases that he doggedly pursued though the media harangued him, cases he saw through to the bitter end.

When she heard his quiet knock at the door she closed her laptop and let him in. He was in the same suit, shirt even more rumpled than earlier.

“That the only one you own?”

“Got dressed in a hurry,” he said, smoothing his tie. “Can I come in?”

“First tell me how you knew my address.”

“Erm.” Hardy frowned and rubbed his eye.

“Did you follow me home or did you already know when you first approached me?”

“I knew. You’ve been a potential asset for a while.”

“An asset?” Hannah asked, hand on her hip.

“You were identified as someone who might help us.” He shifted the briefcase he was holding from one hand to another. “Could we talk about this inside?”

She stared at him for a moment and then walked away, leaving the door open for him to follow. She headed toward the kitchen, hearing his footsteps a few paces behind her.

“Want tea? Coffee?”

“I’m fine.”

He placed his briefcase on the counter and looked around, craning his neck to peer inside the lounge. Hannah sat on one of the tall stools at the counter a few feet away from him.

“A fan of white, then?”

“I’m redecorating.”

“Ah.” Hardy took a step back and crossed his arms, rocking on the heels of his feet. “Before we get started you should know you’re not in any trouble with the police -- whether you agree to help or not.”

“Right. But based on what you said earlier, the police are the least of my problems.”

“Maybe.” He nodded. “But you could just walk away -- change your number, never see Alastair as a client again.”

She studied his face, toying with her earring.

“I don’t get it -- you were so eager for me to help you before. Now it sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of it.”

Hardy stepped forward and placed his hands on the white granite between them.

“I _need_ your help, Belle. But I also need you to be aware of the risks and all your options. And then, if you still agree to help, I promise to keep you safe.”

“Really? Because, from what I’ve read about you, clear and open communication hasn’t been something you’ve strived for in the past.”

He scowled and crossed his arms again, eyes trained on the floor.

“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Hardy reached into his suit pocket for a pen and small notepad. “Now I need to ask you a few questions, then I’ll tell you what we’d need you to do.”

“Alright.” Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold.

“When is your next appointment with Alastair Westfield?”

“Third Thursday of every month.”

“And how long does the appointment last?”

“The whole night.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“From eight o’clock on Thursday night until whenever he leaves the next morning. Usually around nine.”

Hardy nodded, scribbling in the notebook without looking at the page.

“Does he ever have a black laptop with him?”

“Yeah, he does work on it sometimes -- he doesn’t sleep much and, well, there’s some… downtime. We get some work done until he feels like-”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “And at any point in the night are you alone with the laptop?”

Hannah shook her head, her mind still caught in the memory of her and Alastair sitting in bed tapping away on their respective devices, trading smiles from time to time. Then she remembered the lorry of women left to die and shivered.

“No,” she said, rubbing her arms. “I mean, except when he goes to the loo, I guess.”

“Perfect, that’s all we need.”

Hardy snapped the notebook closed and shoved it into his pocket, then opened the briefcase and fished around inside. He wasn’t quite smiling, but it was the happiest she’d seen him since they met yesterday afternoon.

“I’m guessing something important is on the laptop, then.”

“Aye,” he said, pulling something small from the briefcase’s inner pocket. “We believe the keys to the organization’s network is on that laptop and, with your help, we can copy it all onto this.”

He held a small chip in front of her, a shiny black thing the size of her thumbnail.

“Can’t you just, dunno, hack into his hard drive or something?”

“We’ve tried. The laptop has never been connected to the internet. There’s no way of hacking in.”

Hannah stood and walked to the fridge, opening the door and then closing it. She turned back to Hardy.

“So, what, you just want me to put that chip in his laptop while he’s having a wee and hope he doesn’t notice it?”

“We estimate it can copy the contents of the computer in 15-20 seconds,” he said. “Just stick this into the USB drive and there’s a light that will flash green when it’s done. Then you remove it and put it in your pocket.” Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Er, hide it somewhere he wouldn’t look.”

Hannah paced the tiled floor in bare feet, bunching her hair on top of her head and letting it fall.

“And what happens if he realizes something’s wrong? What if he comes out of the loo before 20 seconds are up? You won’t know what’s going on --I can’t exactly wear a wire.”

“Just tell me the room number as soon as you know and I’ll book the one next door. If anything happens all you need to do is shout and I’ll be there.”

She frowned and bit her thumbnail.

“This isn’t, like, a kink or anything is it? Because I knew this copper before…”

“No, nothing like that,” he said, holding her gaze. “Just need your help.”

Hannah took a deep breath and sat in the stool closest to him. Her knee touched his thigh but he didn’t move away.

“Tell me why I should trust you, Alec Hardy.”

He grimaced. “Don’t call me Alec.”

“What, I have to call you _DI Hardy_? Bit formal.”

“Hardy’s fine.”

“Alright. Hardy it is.”

She smiled at him and watched the corner of his lip inch upward a centimeter before returning to its usual position on his face.

“I care about the women who died in that container as much as you do -- and I can tell you do,” he said, brow creasing. “I’ve seen photographs of their bodies, I touched the scratch marks they made on the lorry’s metal walls. They deserve justice, as do all the others like them -- the countless, faceless people this organization has murdered. That’s why you should trust me.”

His words made Hannah’s eyes sting. She took a deep breath and nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “Show me how this chip works, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: resile

Hannah usually didn’t drink on the job, but tonight, she decided, was an exception.

She sipped a vodka-soda as she got dressed, her nerves settling thanks to the booze mixed with the comfort of her usual routine -- curling and plucking, powdering and smudging. The chip was already tucked between the seams of her pushup bra, in a place where Alastair wouldn’t notice even if she took it off before copying his laptop’s hard drive.

She and Hardy had met a few times over the past week to put together a plan -- she would try to get the task done as early in the night as possible, hopefully while he used the loo after a few beers and a blowjob. (Sure, the DI didn’t need to know that last bit, but Hannah couldn’t resist the opportunity to make his cheeks flare pink.)

Every other day Hardy would come round her’s after dark and they’d sit on the stools at her kitchen counter, like the first time when she’d rung him in the middle of the night. He would make tea and review contingency plans while Hannah practiced inserting the chip into a dummy laptop. By the end of the week she could nearly do it with her eyes closed.

They never talked about anything but the case at hand and, as a result, they didn’t say much at all. But somehow, in the stretching silences, they built a quiet trust between them and Hannah was more convinced than ever that she was doing the right thing, even if it hurt.

***

“Think you’re ready?” he’d asked on the day before Alastair’s appointment.

They’d migrated from the kitchen stools to the lounge sofa because their backs had gotten stiff, and Hardy sat with his legs splayed wide, knee nearly touching hers. She sipped her tea, considering, and couldn’t help but nudge his thigh.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She smirked at him and tucked her chin against her shoulder. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say in these situations?”

“Still feel like you’re in a bad crime film, then?”

She bit her lip, happy he remembered her sharp remark from the day they met.

“No… we’ve progressed to a mediocre crime film.”

Hardy chuckled and propped his feet on the coffee table.

“Seriously, Belle,” he said. “You still want to go through with it?”

She put her mug down and turned toward him, curling her leg under herself.

“Your promise to keep me safe still good?”

He met her gaze, fringe nearly falling in his eyes. She pressed her lips together as she resisted sweeping the hair away from his face. He needed a trim.

“Yes,” he said.

“Then yes.”

***

She felt a sort of kinship with the women who died in the lorry, likely bound for a kind of sex work much grimmer than hers. And if all she had to do was copy some computer files to help the police take this organization out for good, well, she figured it was worth the risk.

But now, as her cab approached Alastair’s usual hotel, her gut churned with guilt. Even though she believed what Hardy said about her client’s criminal ties, it was hard to ignore the fact that he was always so kind to her.

It’s not about him anymore, she reminded herself as she strode through the familiar lobby and called the lift. His fate, whatever it is, was already sealed -- now it’s about stopping the man in charge; it’s about 12 innocent women who were left to rot like garbage.

Stepping into the lift, Hannah pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the shape of the chip against her palm. The doors opened onto her floor and she smoothed her dress and squared her shoulders, slipping into her Belle persona.

She walked down the corridor with her head high, slowing as she approached the room 1307 where Alastair was waiting. As she moved past room 1305 she tapped twice on the door, letting Hardy know she was there. She stopped at the next door and exhaled as she heard one soft knock in return, signalling that he’d heard her.

Then the door to room 1307 swung open and she jumped.

“Are you going to stand there all night or did you fancy coming in?” Alastair asked, smiling and stepping back to let her inside.

Hannah laughed, walking into the room.

“No, I just- I couldn’t remember if I turned the stove off.”

“Oh, did you want to check? I can have the driver bring the car around.”

“No, no, I’m sure it’s fine.” She squeezed his arm and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “How are you?”

Alastair’s brows drew together and he looked at her for a long moment, then smiled.

“Brilliant, thanks.”

He turned toward the minibar and Hannah took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay cool. He’d know something was amiss if she kept acting this frazzled.

“Ah, you went with wine tonight, did you?” She placed her bag on the armchair near the bed and stood next to him as he opened the bottle. “Thought you always got beer when you were in London?”

“Felt like something different tonight.”

Hannah held the two glasses as he poured.

“Do your changing tastes only apply to wine, or do you want to mix things up with regard to other aspects of the evening?”

She smirked at him as they clinked their glasses together, eyes locking as they sipped.

“Depends,” he said. “What do you have in mind?”

***

Hannah fell into her role easily as they bantered, willing away stray thoughts about any atrocities Alastair may have had a hand in as best she could. They sat on the room’s small sofa and caught up as they worked their way through the bottle of wine, though she only took small sips while he glugged most of it down.

She did her best to casually inspect the suite while they talked. It had the same layout as all the others they had stayed in, with a small sitting area and table with chairs on one side and the bed on the other. Hardy’s room, thankfully, shared a wall with the table and not the bed. For a moment she wondered why she cared, but decided this wasn't the time to linger on that thought.

She also noted with relief that Alastair’s laptop was already on the table -- he’d probably been getting work done before she arrived. Who’d have thought mobsters could be workaholics?

“And then -- Belle, you’re going to love this,” he said, continuing the latest tale from the office. “Then the barrister brought his fist down on the table so hard -- _so hard_ \-- that it made his accountant’s steaming cup of tea topple right over into his lap.”

“No!” Hannah laughed, smiling wide.

“Yes! The poor sod hopped up and started shouting ‘hot hot hot!’ in this high-pitched voice until the secretary came running in with a glass of ice water and threw it right on his crotch.”

Hannah giggled and curled against him, pressing her nose into his neck. She caught the scent of her cologne -- one that she enjoyed if only because it reminded her of him -- and for some reason it caused a wave of guilt to crash over her. This man was directly involved with the death of a dozen people, if not more, and here was was laughing at his stupid -- and possibly fabricated -- jokes.

To distract herself she straddled him, sitting on his knees, and began working on the knot of his tie.

“You alright, love?”

He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along her shin. Hannah swallowed and slid forward in his lap, grinding against his growing bulge.

“Ever heard the expression ‘laughing a girl into bed’?” she asked, leaning forward to kiss his neck.

“Aren’t we eager tonight.” Alastair chuckled, then put his hands on her waist and pushed her back. “Just let me use the loo first. Be back in two ticks.”

Hannah stood, forcing a smile as he kissed her cheek on the way to the bathroom.

This was it -- this was her chance -- and now she didn’t think she could do it. She glanced at the door and wondered if she should just take Hardy’s advice and run, never to see Alastair again. She felt frozen, muscles taut as her mind struggled to choose between fight or flight.

Then the toilet door clicked shut and she remembered the girls locked away to die.

She sprang into action, stepping out of her heels and moving silently to the table, shaky fingers fishing the chip out of her bra. The dummy laptop she’d been practicing on was the same kind as Alastair’s so she knew exactly where to find the USB port. She clicked the chip into place and exhaled when it began to flash red, signalling that it was copying the files.

Hannah forced herself to take deep, calming breaths that did nothing to slow her stammering heart as her eyes flickered from the chip to the toilet door. It was like she could feel time passing through her, burning her skin and sending torrents of adrenaline rushing along her veins. The red flashing light sped up, meaning it was nearly done, when she heard Alastair turn on the tap.

Standing there with her hand poised just inches from the chip, she imagined getting caught. The door to the loo would swing open and he’d see her poised over the laptop, holding the tiny device in her hand. She’d make a run for the door but he’d be faster, overpowering her and holding her down on the plush carpet.

She tried to shake the images from her mind as she heard the tap turn off, a quiet sound against her own pulse roaring in her ears. She cleared her throat and readied herself to scream, praying her voice would be loud enough for Hardy to hear on the other side of the wall.

The thought of him there, listening for any sign of distress, was surprisingly comforting. She smiled to herself at the thought of him with his ear pressed up against the ornate wallpaper.

The light turned green.

She grasped the device, ripping it from the port, and dove toward her purse on the armchair. The door swung open just as her knees hit the floor and she froze, but Alastair turned back to the loo, checking his face in the mirror.

Not having time to place the chip in her bag, Hannah dropped it into the toe of her discarded left shoe.

“What are you doing down there?” Alastair cocked his head, eyeing her kneeling on the floor.

“Come here,” she said, patting the mattress.

His brow remained furrowed but he did as she said and sat on the bed in front of her. Hannah ran her hands up his thighs before beginning to work on unfastening his belt.

Alastair sighed and laid back on the duvet, arching into her hand.

“Eager tonight, indeed.”

***

The appointment passed quickly after that. Adrenaline from nearly getting caught swirled with the relief that the deed was done and Hannah was able to finally relax.

She’d been doing this job for so long that she could shut her mind off and go through the motions, while her clients didn’t have the faintest idea that her thoughts were elsewhere. It was paint by numbers prostitution -- a moan here, a caress there. Once you strip down the bells and whistles, the lashes and lingerie, escorting was like any old service job. It certainly wasn’t rocket science (and yet she earned more than if it had been).

After their second shag, Hannah was jostled from her thoughts when Alastair wrapped the sheet around his waist and sat at his computer, frowning as he tapped away on the keyboard. Holding her breath, she watched him out the corner of her eye as she pulled the duvet around her and shrunk back on the mattress. She glanced at the door, wondering what her chances would be if she made it into the hallway starkers, but soon his features softened and she admonished herself for being paranoid.

Before she knew it the sun was rising and Alastair ordered coffee and crepes, which they ate on trays in bed.

“Sure you’re alright, Belle?” he asked later, stepping into his trousers. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Still wondering if your house burned down?”

“What?”

“You thought you left the stove on, remember?”

“Hah, oh right.” She laughed and slipped her dress over her head. “No, think I might be coming down with a cold, actually. Hope I haven’t passed it on to you.”

“Don’t worry about me -- strong immune system.”

He smiled and handed her a thick envelope, then stepped behind her to zip up her dress.

Hannah felt his breath on her neck and she waited for him to say his usual parting words, but he remained silent.

***

Panic flooded her senses as she strode to the lift, moving as quickly as she could without breaking into a jog. She’d considered knocking on Hardy’s door but figured that would only arouse Alastair’s suspicions, so she focused on leaving the hotel as quickly as she could.

When she got elevator bay she hit the call button and tapped her foot, feeling the sharp edge of the tiny chip under her toes.

While the digital numbers above the lift doors slowly ticked up to her floor, Hannah reached into her bag and found her mobile. She texted Hardy with a shaky hand.

_He knows something’s up._

The lift dinged, doors opening. Stepped inside and jammed her finger into the L button until the doors finally closed. Her phone vibrated.

_Meet at the exit._

Hannah ran a hand through her hair and took several deep breaths, exhaling heavily when the lift opened into the lobby without having stopped on any other floors. She couldn’t help but jog toward the revolving doors now, limping slightly due to the hard plastic digging into her foot.

Blinking as she stepped into the morning sunlight, she saw Hardy standing at a black cab, holding the door open for her.

“Get in,” he said, eyes scanning the entryway behind her.

She slid onto the leather bench and Hardy got in after her, the car pulling away seconds later. He told the cabbie directions and she collapsed against the seat, resting her hand on her chest as if that might slow her thudding heart. Hardy turned to her and opened his mouth to speak when his mobile rang.

“Yeah?” he said into the receiver, frowning. “Yep. Alright. Will do.”

He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket.

“Who was that?”

“First tell me what happened.”

Hannah sat up straight and turned to face him.

“Dunno, it’s just a feeling. He didn’t catch me copying the hard drive onto the chip and everything was going fine, but then…” She realized she was wringing her hands so she pulled them apart and wedged them under her knees. “At the end of every appointment he says the same thing to me -- _until next time_ \-- but this time he just held open the door and I knew.”

She bit her trembling bottom lip and fought back tears.

“It’s alright,” Hardy said, squeezing her shoulder then letting his hand drop. “You’re safe.”

“Am I, though? What if they come looking for me?”

“They won’t find you.”

“How do you mean?”

Hardy cleared his throat.

“That was MI-5 on the line -- they intercepted a phone call Alastair made to an associate after you left. They don’t know much, just that you may have been snooping on his computer. But they’ve decided to…” He swallowed. “Eliminate the threat.”

“What does that mean?” His brow furrowed and he tilted his head. Hannah leaned forward, gripping his wrist. “What does that mean, Hardy?”

He glanced down, staring at her hand on his arm, then met her eyes.

“There are two men on their way to your house now.”

“Shit.” She let go of him and covered both eyes with her hands. “Shit shit shit.”

“Is anyone there? Anyone who might be in danger?”

“No. No one’s there.”

“Good.”

“But that’s my home -- where am I supposed to go? What if they find me? Fuck.”

She wiped the tears from her face, not caring that she was probably smearing mascara across her cheeks.

“They won’t find you -- we’re going somewhere safe.” He turned away from her and leaned forward toward the driver. “Next right.”

“Where are we going?”

“Do you have the chip?”

Hannah took off her left shoe and emptied the chip until his upturned palm.

“Creative,” he said, pocketing it with a trace of a smirk on his face.

Hannah put her heel back on and grabbed his arm again, more gently this time.

“Tell me where we’re going.”

He held her stare and swallowed, adams apple bobbing.

“Let’s worry about getting there, first.”

***

Hardy stopped the cab on a quiet street in North London and, after paying the fare, walked down the middle of the street clicking a button attached to a set of car keys until they heard doors unlock.

“Over here,” he said.

He opened the passenger door of a black Skoda and then walked around to the driver’s side.

“Nice ride,” Hannah said once they were both inside.

“It’s nondescript.”

Hardy started the car and shifted into gear, speeding down the street.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?”

She gripped the grab-handle as he took a sharp corner.

“Better buckle up.”

“Tell me where you’re taking me or I’m getting out.”

He glanced at her, eyebrow raised. The car slowed as they approached a red light and she placed her hand on the door handle. Hardy sighed.

“There’s a safe house, up North. It’s been reserved for you in case something like this happened.”

“What about the chip?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you have to hand it off to someone to be analyzed or something?”

“Someone’s meeting us at the safe house. He’ll take it back to London.”

She crossed her arms and slouched against the seat, staring out the window and letting her eyes unfocus.

“I have to tell my friends,” she said after a while.

“You can’t.”

“Course I can. What if they turn up at my house looking for me and run into… Look, let me just text Ben.”

She took her mobile out of her purse and began to enter her passcode.

“Don’t.” Hardy snatched it from her and put it in his pocket, swerving around a car just in time. “Contacting anyone would put you _and them_ in serious danger. There’s an officer assigned to your house -- nothing will happen to them if they come round.”

Anger boiled up inside her then and she sat up, bringing her hand down on the dashboard with a thud.

“You know for someone who talked about how important it was that I understood all the risks, you certainly kept this possibility to yourself.” She groaned and took in a shaky breath. “I have a life, you know, friends and family that need me. I can’t just be stuck up in some little village by myself where there’s more sheep than people -- I’ll go mad.”

She deflated and turned away from him as best she could, resting her head on the cold glass window. Hardy was quiet as he navigated their way onto the M11. For a long while neither of them spoke.

“Would you have done it anyway?” he asked, as the city gave way to fields. “If you’d known.”

Hannah pouted and shivered, running her hands up her bare arms. Hardy unbuckled his seatbelt and took off his suit jacket. He handed it to her and she half-smiled by way of thanks, draping it over her like a blanket.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

Through her peripheral vision she saw Hardy nod to himself.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ve got a ways to go.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: resile

Hannah struggled, trying to wrench her arms free from Alastair’s grasp.

He crouched over her, pinning her down on the carpet and screaming unintelligible words in her ear. Her body felt frozen, as if she was stuck in a block of ice, and when she opened her mouth to scream the sound clogged in her throat.

Then she was in the back of a lorry, rumbling over bumpy pavement, and she banged her fist on the inner wall as hard as she could until the metal turned to carpet and carpet turned to dirt.

She felt a hand on her shoulder as soil rained down on her, fingers gripping her skin and shaking her as she struggled to breathe.

“Belle,” someone said, voice low and urgent. “Belle, wake up. It’s just a dream, wake up.”

She gasped and opened her eyes, lurching forward against the seatbelt. Panting, her heart rate slowed as she focused on the motorway and blue sky ahead of her. The hand on her shoulder smoothed up to her neck, then back down her arm before letting her go.

“You okay?” Hardy asked.

She sat back in the seat and looked at him. He was staring straight ahead, both hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2 like she hadn’t just been screaming in her sleep.

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Thanks for waking me.”

He nodded.

“I get those too, sometimes.”

“Nightmares?”

“Aye.”

“What about?”

He cleared his throat and checked the side mirror before changing lanes.

“You’ll be able to get some proper rest soon,” he said. “We’ll be there in about 40 minutes or so.”

Hannah shifted in her seat and crossed her legs.

“Not sure if I can last that long.”

“Hm?”

“Drank three cups of coffee this morning. Didn’t exactly know we’d be going on a road trip, did I?”

Hardy sighed and glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Sure you can’t hold it?”

The car sped over a pothole and she winced.

“Positive.”

It was ten minutes before they came upon a petrol station and as soon as they parked Hannah was out the door, teetering toward the toilets as fast as she could with stiff legs and stilettos.

“Hang on,” Hardy called, jogging to catch up with her.

“I don’t need a police escort to use the loo, thanks,” she said, opening the door to the ladies’. “And it’s a single -- no one else in here. You can wait in the car, I’ll be fine.”

He frowned and tugged on his slouching trousers.

“I’ll wait right here. Don’t dilly-dally.”

“Do they teach that terminology at the police academy?”

She smirked and shut the door on him.

The bathroom was dingy but Hannah couldn’t spare the time to put toilet roll down on the seat cover. She squatted over the basin, thankful that her line of work kept her quads in top shape.

When she was done she flushed with her foot and washed her hands twice, then splashed her face with cold water. Her eye makeup had smeared all over the place so she dampened a paper towel and cleaned it up as best she could.

She looked at herself in the mirror, square in the eye, and tried to take stock of her situation. Things hadn’t gone exactly as planned but, on the whole, she’d accomplished what she set out to do -- she’d copied the valuable computer files, made it out of there unscathed, and, though she was on the run, at least she wasn’t alone. She bit her lip as she remembered shouting at Hardy earlier in the car. He didn’t deserve that.

Then he banged loudly on the door.

“Almost done?”

Hannah rolled her eyes and grabbed some paper towels to open the door without touching the handle.

“You married?” she asked.

She propped the door open with her foot and tossed the towels in the bin.

“Er, no.”

“Not surprised.”

She grinned at him and strode back to the car, trying not to switch her hips too much. A man washing his windscreen turned and stared and she blanched, quickening her steps.

“Has anyone followed us?” she asked when they were back in the car. “That bloke was watching me.”

“Nah, I’ve been keeping an eye out,” Hardy said, pulling back onto the motorway. “Think they’re just not used to seeing women in corsets before noon around here.”

“First off, it’s a bustier. And it’s not something I’d choose to wear on a country outing, would I?”

Hardy chuckled. “I know.”

“So, where are we anyway?”

“Durham,” he said. “Safe house is in a town called Easington. It’s… quaint.”

“Quaint.” Hannah nodded. “And the ratio of people to sheep…”

Hardy coughed. “Favors the sheep.”

“Brilliant. And how long do you reckon I’ll be up here?”

“Too early to tell -- depends on how worried Alastair’s boss is about you. I’d prepare to sit tight for a few days, at least.”

“Does the safe house have wifi?”

“No.”

Hannah sighed and picked Hardy’s jacket up from the floor and folded it, smoothing out the wrinkles as best she could.

“Well I’ve been wanting to disconnect,” she said, forcing a smile. “Guess now’s my chance.”

***

The safe house turned out to be a farmhouse, sitting on a hillside looking over Easington Village. Hannah gazed down at the town as Hardy fumbled with the locks, distant church bells tolling from the steeple below.

“Ten, eleven, twelve,” Hannah counted, following Hardy inside. “Suppose that’s how I’ll tell time now that I don’t have a mobile.”

Hardy pointed to the wall.

“Clock.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“I’ve got to go make a phone call. Just wait here and get-” he gestured toward the furniture, “settled.”

“Right,” she said, stepping aside to let him leave through the front door.

Hannah kicked off her heels and walked around to get the lay of the land. The house was small and rustic with low-hanging wooden beams that looked like they were from the 16th century, and probably were. The majority of the square-footage was taken up by the lounge, which only fit a sofa, a coffee table, and a boxy television with a bent antenna.

To the left of the lounge was a small kitchen and to the right a short hallway that lead to a bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. Hannah did a lap twice to confirm that it was the only loo in the house.

The space was bright and clean -- what an estate agent would advertise as “cozy” -- and there were scenic views outside of each paned-glass window. She sat on the arm of the sofa and nodded to herself -- she could get by here, for a little while.

The door opened and Hardy walked through the entryway and into the lounge, holding two plastic bags.

“My colleague came to take the chip back to London,” he said, setting both bags on the table in front of her. “Brought us lunch and a change of clothes and toiletries for you.”

“Thanks.”

She opened the bag with clothing while Hardy glanced around.

“Ehm, you find the loo?”

“Yeah, it’s straight through there.” She pointed toward the bedroom. “Second door -- first one’s a closet.”

He nodded and left the room.

While he was gone, Hannah took out the contents of the bag and laid them out neatly on the table: toothbrush, toothpaste, bar of soap, tube socks, blue hospital scrub bottoms, and a navy t-shirt that said “London Police” in white block letters.

She stood and held the shirt up to herself -- it was even longer than her dress.

“It’s a standard kit,” Hardy said, startling her. “We can send someone collect some of your things, if you want.”

“Someone?” She wrinkled her nose. “Can’t you do it? Don’t like the idea of a stranger going through my stuff.”

He scratched his chin, then nodded.

“Make me a list.” He picked up the second bag and peered inside, frowning. “Sandwiches and crisps. Let’s eat and I’ll explain how things will progress from here.”

“Alright,” she said. “Can I shower first, though? I feel…”

She trailed off, not sure if the word she was looking for. All she knew is when she turned a certain way she could catch a whiff of Alastair’s cologne and she wanted to wash that away as soon as possible.

“Right, yeah. Take your time. I’ll get things ready.”

“Okay.” She picked up the soap, t-shirt, and scrubs from the table and turned toward the bedroom, then paused. “Um, and I just wanted to say… I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier. I was a bit overwhelmed.”

He shrugged.

“It was a lot to take in.”

She waited for him to say more but he turned and walked toward the kitchen.

“Right,” she said. “See you in a bit.”

***

The water pressure was surprisingly strong for an old farmhouse and Hannah spent several minutes standing under the spray, letting the steam sooth her tense muscles. The bathroom was equipped with new shampoo and fresh towels, like it was a country inn and not a police-run safe house.

By the time she was finished she felt renewed and even hummed quietly to herself as she turned her knickers inside out and slipped on the large t-shirt, which, as she suspected, nearly fell to her knees.

Realizing she forgot the toothbrush and toothpaste, she walked back to the lounge, where Hardy was sitting on the sofa.

He glanced up at her and then his eyes focused, traveling from her face down to her legs. Hannah’s lips curled upwards as he blinked and looked away, staring at a spot on the hardwood.

“Forgot the toothbrush,” she said, walking closer and pick it up, along with the toothpaste. She beamed at him, tongue pressing against the back of her teeth, but his eyes remained glued to the floor. “You realize I’m _literally_ more covered up than I’ve been all day, yeah?”

He scowled in the direction of the coffee table and stood, walking back to the kitchen.

“Do you want turkey or ham?”

“Turkey.”

Hannah went back to the loo to brush her teeth, smile never faltering.

***

She piled her damp hair into a messy bun atop her head and put on the hospital scrubs so Hardy wouldn’t have to blush his way through lunch.

He had arranged their sandwiches and crisps on plates on the small kitchen table, next to a window overlooking a large field.

“Seventeen to two,” Hannah said as Hardy picked the cheese off his sandwich.

“Pardon?”

“The current ratio of sheep to people.” She grinned and popped a crisp into her mouth. “I count 17 of them out there and there’s two of us.”

Hardy looked at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Didn’t realize you had such a keen interest in sheep herding.”

She rolled her eyes and bit into her sandwich.

“So what’s next, then -- we hole up here until your colleagues say it’s safe for me to go home?”

Hardy tilted his head, scraping the mayonnaise from the bread.

“ _You_ hole up here,” he said. “I’m heading back to London to help follow up on whatever leads from analyzing the computer files.”

“You’re just gonna leave me here?”

He put his deconstructed sandwich back together and took a bite.

“I’ll come check on you when I can.”

Hannah stood and turned toward the window, crossing her arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the safe house possibility?”

She blinked back tears as she looked out onto the field, grass and sheep blurring together. Frustration bubbled inside her as she anticipated another evasive answer.

“I-” Hardy started, and she turned to face him. “I didn’t want you to worry. And, well… I didn’t think it was a likely scenario.”

She sat back down, arms still crossed.

“So it’s my fault, then. Something I did made him suspicious or tipped him off somehow and for all we know they know about the whole investigation, fuck.”

She rested her elbows on the table and hung her head in her hands. Hardy’s chair scraped across the tile and she felt his hand on her back.

“That’s not true,” he said. “You were very brave and you did everything according to plan -- I reckon he had a program on the computer that let him know it’d been tampered with. We should’ve thought of that.” His hand slid up her back to her shoulder. “You were brilliant, Belle, and I’m sorry you’re stuck here, I truly am. But I have a feeling that the information we find on the files you copied will crack this whole thing wide open.”

Hannah dropped her hands from her eyes and looked at him, trying to get a read on his face. He squeezed her shoulder then placed his hand on the table.

“Think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in one go.” Hannah laughed as Hardy smiled, shaking his head. “And that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.” He ran his hand down his face and moved his chair back to the other side of the table. “It’s nice -- you should do it more.”

He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded toward her nearly untouched plate.

“Eat.”

***

Hannah washed the dishes as Hardy stepped outside to take another call. She felt stupid for thinking he’d babysit her the whole time she was in hiding, like they’d live in the countryside together playing house. The thought of staying there alone made her queasy, but she decided to be strong and not mention it -- he had enough to deal with.

She heard the front door open and close, and soon Hardy was next to her drying the clean dishes with a towel.

“I can stay tonight,” he said.

Hannah pressed her lips together, forcing back a smile.

“Really?”

“I’ll buy you some groceries first thing in the morning and then drive to London. When I can, I’ll bring back your things.” He finished drying the plates and stacked them in the cupboard. “Make me that list, yeah?”

“Great,” she said. “I’ll do that now -- I have a pen and paper in my bag.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the lounge, Hannah penning a short list of essentials while Hardy typed away on his mobile, occasionally stepping outside to take a call. It reminded her of the evenings they’d spent in her kitchen, working side-by-side in easy silence.

“How did you wind up in London,” she asked after flipping through every magazine on the coffee table.

Hardy looked up from his phone and shrugged.

“Same way anyone winds up anywhere.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Needed a job and London was the best option.”

She bit her nail and watched him as he scrolled through his phone.

“Couldn’t find anything closer to Broadchurch? You were there for a while, weren’t you?”

“There’s nothing for me there,” he said, brow furrowed.

“Nothing? You were there for a few years, you must’ve made friends.”

“No. Well.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “A friend, yes.”

“You made one friend?”

“Yep.”

“And where is he?”

“ _She_ moved on too.”

“I see.”

He put his phone down and looked at her.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

Hardy took a deep breath and crossed his arms.

“How’d you get into prostitution then?”

“Oi, no need to get confrontational.”

“Just being direct.”

Hannah cocked her head and turned toward him.

“Slept with this bloke and his girlfriend and he put a wad of notes in my hand when I got in the cab the next morning,” she said, holding his gaze. “So I figured, well, I liked sex and I liked easy money, so it just made sense.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“How capitalist of you.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.” She smiled and kicked his leg. “I’m losing quite a bit of income by being here, you know. Think the police will compensate me?”

Hardy smirked.

“I’ll file a reimbursement claim.”

***

They stuck to less loaded topics for the rest of the afternoon, drinking cups of plain black tea from tea bags Hardy found in the back of a cupboard. Every once in a while Hannah said something that made him laugh and she reveled in the way his whole face changed, years slipping away as his smile spread from his lips to his eyes.

Hardy showered as the sun began to set and Hannah smirked when he came back into the lounge fully dressed, shoes and all. Her eyes lingered on his hair, which was somehow partially matted down and sticking up at the same time.

“No hairbrush,” he said.

“Come here.”

He sat on the sofa and she kneeled next to him, combing her fingers through his damp strands until his hair was more or less smooth. She watched his face as she raked her nails across his scalp, smiling when his eyes drifted closed.

“You need a trim,” she said, sweeping her fingers along the fringe on his forehead. “There are scissors on the vanity in my bedroom at home -- if you bring them I’ll cut it for you. No charge.”

He cleared his throat and nodded.

“Alright.”

She yawned and then Hardy did too. She giggled and stood, stretching and yawning again.

“I always hated that yawns are contagious,” he said, watching her. “Thought it was weakness, to yawn from the mere suggestion of it. When I was a kid if someone yawned I’d try to make sure I didn’t, just to prove a point to myself.”

“Did you try not to just now?”

“No.” He held her gaze, then shrugged. “Too tired for that.”

“Yeah, think I might turn in, actually. You need the loo?”

“No, I’m fine.”

She found spare blankets in the closet and brought him a pillow from her bed. He was taking off his tie when she came back into the lounge and she lingered in the doorway, watching him begin to unbutton his shirt.

“You sure you don’t want to take the bed?” she asked when he saw her. “You’re nearly twice as long as the sofa.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She made up the sofa as best she could with the pillows and blankets, then poured him a glass of water from the tap and put it on the coffee table.

“Thanks,” he said. “You need anything?”

“No.” She opened her mouth then closed it, looking at her toes. “Well, actually…”

“Yeah?”

“Could I have a hug?”

He hesitated, then moved toward her, opening his arms. Hannah smiled and stepped into them, wrapping her arms around his waist, surprised at how far around she could reach. She rested her cheek on his chest and breathed him in, recognizing the scent of the bar of soap that came in her toiletry bag.

“Hardy?”

“Hm?”

“Hug me back.”

He huffed and she worried he might step away from her, but instead she felt his arms wrap around her shoulders. She sighed and closed her eyes as they stayed there for a short moment, feeling the remaining stress of the day loosen and dissipate.

“Thanks,” she said, letting him go.

Hardy nodded and stepped away, turning off the lamp.

“Goodnight Belle.”

Hannah crossed her arms, suddenly chilly, and walked toward the bedroom. When she got to the doorway she stopped and turned back to him.

“You know my real name, don’t you? You’ve known all along.” In the darkness she could just see him nod in affirmation. “So why don’t you use it?”

He shrugged. “You haven’t asked me to.”

She pressed her lips together and wrapped a stray strand of hair around her finger.

“I’m asking,” she said, wondering why her voice sounded so small.

He sat on the sofa and began taking off his shoes, not saying a word. Hannah sighed and turned back to the bedroom, stepping inside and reaching to close the door.

“Goodnight Hannah,” he said, just before the door clicked shut.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: resile

Hannah recognized Hardy’s grip on her shoulders before she even opened her eyes.

Her nightmare had been the same as the one she’d had in the car, except magnified -- there was a realness to it that clung to her skin even as she sat up, breathing heavily.

Hardy stepped back from the bed and looked away. In the darkness she could tell that he was fully dressed again, wrinkled jacket hanging off his broad shoulders. Her brow furrowed as her gaze fell to his shoes, then the duvet and scrub bottoms on the floor next to them.

She glanced down at herself and realized she must have really twisted in her sleep -- the oversized t-shirt pushed up over her navel. Hardy moved to leave the room as she tugged the hem down.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” She watched him as he bent and picked up two shopping bags next to the dresser. “Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, back to her. “There’s a 24-hour ASDA a few towns over.”

He left the room and Hannah climbed out of bed, stepping into the scrubs. She vaguely remembered kicking them off during the night when she got too hot under all of the blankets.

Following the sound of plastic crinkling, she found him in the kitchen putting groceries into the cupboards.

“You leaving?”

He turned to look at her, then opened the fridge to place a carton of milk inside.

“Yeah. Was gonna wait for you to wake up.”

“Well, I’m up.” She stood next to him and delved into one of the bags, wrinkling her nose at several cans of beans. “Don’t want to keep you.”

He frowned at her, stalks of celery in his hands.

“Are you cross?”

“No, of course not.” She put the beans away and then pulled three different types of biscuits from the bag. “You’ve got to go catch the baddie, otherwise what’s the point.”

He placed the celery in the fridge and closed the door.

“Couldn’t remember the kind you liked.”

“Pardon?”

“The biscuits.” He nodded toward them. “I remember you ate some one night at your house, but I forgot which.”

She smiled and put the three sleeves away.

“Lucky for you I like all of the kinds,” she said. “Well, except Jaffa Cakes -- eugh.”

“Noted.”

“Oh, and they were Jammy Dodgers, that night. You turned up your nose at them -- said jam had no place being in a dessert.”

Hardy chuckled. “Right.”

They finished putting the remaining groceries away in silence. When they were done Hardy crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter.

“Let’s review the ground rules,” he said. “Stay inside. Don’t open the door for anyone -- even if it’s an elderly neighbor come round to borrow a cup of sugar.”

“Do people really do that these days?” She laughed.

“Hannah.”

She pressed her lips together at the sound of him saying her name.

“No opening the door, got it.”

“We have no reason to think anyone knows where you are, but we have to be cautious.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small mobile and a charger. “I’m keeping your phone for now but I’m going to leave you with this -- it’s programmed with my mobile number and the direct line to my office. Only use it to call me or 999, if need be. Understood?”

“Yep,” she said, taking it. “Has it got any games on it?”

Hardy rubbed his eye, then frowned at her.

“I need to know you’re taking this seriously -- you’re being a bit glib.”

She turned from him and walked into the lounge, switching on the lamp. She sat silently on the sofa until she heard him enter the room.

“Humor’s about the only thing keeping me sane right now, alright?” She cleared her throat, trying to calm her shaky voice. “I’ll follow all your bloody rules, don’t worry. Just focus on whatever information was on that computer so you can put those people behind bars and so I can get home.”

She felt the cushion sag next to her, but she closed her eyes and turned away.

“I will,” he said, resting a hand on her knee. “I promise.”

She stood and faced him, crossing her arms.

“Better get going then. You’ve got my key and the list?”

“Yep,” he stood too, patting his breast pocket. “I’ll come back as soon as I can. Maybe not tonight, but…”

“I understand.”

He picked up his car keys and walked toward the door, glancing back at her.

“I’ll get word to Ben,” he said. “I have his information.”

“Course you do.”

She wouldn’t bet money on it, but she’d swear she saw Hardy wince at her words. Something inside her broke, then, and she went up to him and placed her hand on his wrist just as he reached the doorknob.

“Thank you,” she said. “And I’ll be fine here, really.”

He nodded, eyes on her hand.

“Just sit tight.”

She stepped back as he opened the door and shut it quietly behind him. Hannah bolted each of the three locks before she heard his footsteps walking away.

***

Her first full day in hiding passed more quickly than she thought it would. It turned out when left to her own devices -- without any _actual_ devices -- she could entertain herself quite well.

After Hardy left she re-arranged his haphazard grocery placement in the fridge and cupboards, drawing pleasure from putting everything in its rightful place. Then she made her bed and tidied up the house, though she left Hardy’s sloppily folded blankets on the sofa the way they were.

Then, after making and eating a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, she spent a few hours snooping. It seemed the house had been owned by an old couple before it came under police purview and some of their belongings and documents were still in the entryway hutch and the bedroom nightstand.

Her best find of the day was a thick stack of yellowed envelopes bound together with a rubber band. It turned out to be love letters that Harold had written to Helen when he was in France during the Second World War.

Hannah lay on her stomach on the lounge floor and read them all, shedding a few tears over Harold’s sweet and hopeful words. She knew from the other papers she’d found -- deed’s and bank statements -- that he had returned home to Helen, just as he promised at the end of every letter.

When she was done she stacked the envelopes neatly just as she had found them and placed them on the nightstand, silently vowing to track down their children or other living relatives when she got out of here so the letters could be passed on.

She felt restless after that so she did her usual routine of crunches and squats twice over, figuring she needed more exercise since she hadn’t even walked the distance of a city block. Then she showered until the hot water ran out and braided her damp hair into a loose crown, the way she used to do in school.

The sun hung low in the sky when she started cooking dinner. She hummed as she moved about the kitchen, boiling linguini and browning meat in a pan before adding tomato sauce.

She let the bolognese simmer for a while as she looked out the front window, hoping she’d see the black Skoda’s headlights winding up the hill from the town below. But after the sauce had nearly boiled down to paste she gave up and ate alone at the kitchen table, watching the sheep outside munch on their grassy dinners.

“Twenty-two to one,” she said to the sheep. “You’re multiplying.”

When she was full, she put the leftovers in the fridge and did the washing up. Then she curled up on the sofa under one of Hardy’s blankets and switched on the mobile. He hadn’t texted.

It wasn’t all bad news, though, because the phone came pre-loaded with Snake and Tetris _and_ Pong. She passed the next few hours playing games until the mobile’s battery ran out and she had to plug it into the wall.

The sun had long since set by then and she worried the normally vacant house would look like a blazing beacon on the hill, so she went around turning off all the lights except for the lounge lamp.

Her eyes were growing heavy so she brushed her teeth and washed her face, then returned to the sofa. The bed was infinitely more comfortable -- no wonder Hardy couldn’t sleep -- but an inkling of last night’s dream still hung in the bedroom, so she decided to doze in the lounge.

Hannah pulled the blankets around her and turned onto her side, catching his scent on the pillow. She smiled, wondering what he was doing at that very moment, as she drifted off to sleep.

***

She jolted awake some time later and it took a moment to get her bearings. She didn’t remember having a nightmare and that realization made her hair stand on end -- she was normally a heavy sleeper so something must have woken her up.

Hannah sat up and held her breath, ears straining for any source of noise. The refrigerator hummed, a sheep bleated, the house creaked, a car door closed.

She froze, pulse racing and roaring in her ears. Her skin flushed and her stomach twisted, just like it had when she heard Alastair turn off the tap in the loo.

Forcing herself to move, she got up from the sofa and inched toward the door as she heard soft footsteps approaching on the gravel. She stood in the shadows next to the window and squinted into the darkness when she heard a key turn the first lock.

Her eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape of Hardy’s Skoda in the driveway as she heard the key slip into the second lock. She collapsed against the wall in relief, then moved to unlock the deadbolt and let him in.

Hardy flinched when the door swung open and she glared at him.

“Some warning would’ve been nice,” she said, walking back to the lounge. “What’s the point of giving me a mobile if you’re not going to use it. Jesus Christ, you scared me half to death.”

She heard the door close and the floorboards creak as he followed her.

“Er, sorry. I couldn’t leave until late and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Hannah closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“For future reference, I wouldn’t mind.”

She opened her eyes to find him standing in the lounge doorway, her pink quilted overnight bag slung on his shoulder. He dropped it on the ground with a thud as she fought back a giggle.

“Your definition of _essentials_ is much broader than mine.” He placed three textbooks that were under his arm onto the table. “These wouldn’t fit in the bag.”

“Thanks,” she said, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. “Have you eaten?”

***

She heated up the pasta and sat with him while he ate, sipping a cup of tea as he shoveled the food down.

“God, do they not give you a lunch break or something?”

Hardy shook his head, gulping from his glass of water.

“Too busy.”

“The files on the chip…” she said, biting her lip. “Were they helpful?”

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“They’re brilliant -- even better than we hoped. We’re really closing in on them now.”

Hannah exhaled and grinned.

“That’s good news.”

“Aye,” he said, returning her smile as he chewed. “We would’ve been at a dead end if you hadn’t got those for us.”

“You really love your job, don’t you? Your eyes light up when you talk about it.”

Hardy put his fork down, plate nearly clean, and shrugged.

“I like the end result if I do my job well.”

Hannah smirked and sipped her tea.

“Me too.”

He slouched in the chair and watched her, crossing his arms.

“You’re considering a career change though, aren’t you?” He nodded toward the lounge. “The books.”

It was her turn to shrug.

“Just something I’m looking into.”

“Seems more serious than that.” He reached into his pocket and handed her an envelope. “Found this in your post. From the National Association of Estate Agents.”

She tore open the letter and scanned the page, then folded it and placed it on the table.

“I’ve been taking a course in my spare time,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Can’t be an escort forever and I’ve always had an eye for nice houses. Thought I might be good at it. And I already have a high-end client base, don’t I?”

Hardy smirked.

“What’s the letter say, then?”

“I finally got a date to sit for my qualifications.” She stood and brought his dishes to the sink. “They’re in two weeks. Think I’ll be able to take them?”

“I can’t be certain,” he said. “I hope so.”

“Well I’ll keep on revising, just in case.”

Hardy stood next to her and dried the dishes after she’d washed them.

“I reckon you would be,” he said. “Good at it, I mean. The selling houses thing.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her chin against her shoulder and smiled up at him. “I was doing research when you first approached me in Waterstones, you know. The key to selling any house lies in the staging -- it’s like giving the rooms a makeover -- and I’ve always had an eye for aesthetics.”

He raised his brows and nodded.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. “I need to check in on something.”

“Don’t go outside, it’s freezing,” she said. “I’ll put my clothes away. Won’t eavesdrop, promise.”

She carried the overnight bag into the bedroom and unzipped it, smiling at the way he’d attempted to fold her tops. With Hardy’s muffled voice as background music she began to put her things away -- jeans and jumpers, moisturizer and birth control pills.

He’d packed her makeup bag, too, and inside she found the scissors for his haircut.

At the very bottom of the bag was a bundle of bras and knickers and looked like they were hastily tossed in there while he looked away. She giggled to herself as she imagined his face when confronted with her underwear drawer, especially if he saw the toys that she kept toward the back.

She had just about finished when Hardy knocked on the door and stepped inside.

“Mind if I use the toilet?”

“Sure.”

He nodded and walked into the loo. Hannah rolled her eyes when he kept the water running for all of the 60-seconds he was in there.

“I’m gonna get some rest,” he said when he was done. “Have to head back to London in a few hours.”

She put the shirt she was folding down and turned to him.

“You take the bed.” He started to speak and she cut him off, holding her hands in front of her. “Un-uh, none of that. I won’t hear otherwise -- you can’t possibly get any sleep on that sofa, it’s a torture rack.”

He crossed his arms and sniffed.

“I wouldn’t feel right,” he said. “Taking your bed.”

“It’s a big bed,” she said, gesturing toward it. “We can share. I’ll stay on my side, don’t worry.”

Hardy shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted in his stance, shaking his head.

“It’s against procedure.”

“Oh come on!” She laughed. “Who will know? And I never took you for someone who cared about procedure.”

He smirked at his shoes and she knew she’d won.

“Pick a side,” she said, collecting her pajamas and walking to the loo. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

***

Hardy was lying in bed, nearly on the edge of the mattress, with the covers pulled up to his t-shirt covered chest. Hannah pressed her lips together as she noticed his trousers in crumpled heap on the floor next to his shoes and button-down. She picked both items up and hung them in the closet.

“Don’t- don’t do that,” he said.

“There isn’t an iron here, I checked. You’ll have to hang them in the bathroom when you shower tomorrow -- that’ll get some of the wrinkles out, at least.”

Hardy huffed as she peeled back the covers on got into bed.

“Do you even own an iron?” she asked.

“They’re wrinkle-resistant shirts.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to iron them. You know that right?”

He muttered something she couldn’t quite make out and she grinned at him, then turned off the lamp.

A hush fell over them in the darkness and nervous energy gathered in Hannah’s chest. She turned on her side to face him, keeping a fair amount of space between them.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.

He grunted in affirmation.

“It’s just- when you first told me about Alastair you said, ‘even nice people can do bad things.’” She paused, trying to find the words. “I mean, in my job I’ve prided myself on my abillity to figure people out, to strip them down to the studs in just a few minutes of knowing them. And, with Alastair, I’d known him for ages and I had no clue. None whatsoever.”

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them Hardy was on his side, looking at her.

“So what did you want to ask me?”

She shrugged, shaking her head against the pillow.

“I dunno,” she said. “What don’t I know about you?”

“Lots of things.”

They smiled at each other.

“Tell me one thing.”

“I have a daughter,” he said. “She’s about to go to uni.”

Hannah’s eyes widened and she grinned.

“Now that’s something I never would have guessed,” she said, yawning. “Show me a photo of her tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

He yawned and she giggled.

“Night Hardy.”

“Night Hannah.”

***

Hannah sighed as she slowly woke, nuzzling against his collarbone. He smelled nice -- a mix of spicy deodorant and fresh soap and sleep-worn skin.

His fingers smoothing over the skin of her lower back was what made her fully aware of the situation; they were completely entwined with one another -- her leg threaded between his and her breasts against his chest, his chin resting on her hair and his hand beneath her shirt.

She panicked for an instant until she realized his breathing was still slow and heavy -- she could still extricate herself while he was unaware. Then his arm tightened around her and tugged her closer, his erection pressing against her stomach. A jolt of heat swept through her, settling between her legs, and Hannah swallowed back a whimper.

As slowly as she could, she moved his arm off of her and slid her leg from between his. She waited a moment, making sure he was still asleep, then gently got out of bed and padded to the loo.

She used the toilet and splashed cold water on her face, trying to put a stopper in the flow of her imagination. It would have been so easy, if he had woken up, for her to tug down her knickers and him to slip inside her.

She glared at herself in the mirror and then dried her face before tiptoeing back into the bedroom. Hardy was still sleeping, just as she’d left him, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The sun was barely peeking up over the horizon so she nestled back under the blankets, keeping as much space between them as possible. Despite her active imagination, she knew that he’d have been mortified to have woken up entangled like that.

Not soon after she closed her eyes, Hannah felt the mattress dip and then, a moment later, she heard the shower turn on. Arousal shot through her again at the thought of him standing under the spray and debating what to do with his morning hard-on. She arched off the mattress, fingers skimming along the elastic of her knickers.

She turned her face into her pillow and groaned before throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. She headed toward the kitchen to start breakfast but then paused, catching sight of his shirt and trousers hanging in the closet.

Hardy was dripping wet with a white towel barely closed around his waist when he opened the bathroom door.

“You’re supposed to hang these up to steam, remember?”

She held out the clothes, hangers dangling from her fingers.

“Right,” he said, swallowing and taking them. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She let her eyes rake down his bare chest and smirked at him, until her gaze caught on a crescent-shaped scar on the left side of his chest.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Mhm,” she said. “You eat eggs?”

“Just the whites.” He leveled his eyes on her and she nodded absently. After a moment, he raised his eyebrows. “Mind if I…”

“Right, sorry!” she said, pulling the door closed.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannah was portioning breakfast onto plates when Hardy sat down at the kitchen table, still buttoning his shirt. She glanced down and noticed he was in black socks that were subtly mismatched -- one with a gray thread across the toes, one with red.

“Made egg-white omelettes with peppers and onions,” she said, placing one in front of him and sitting with one of her own. “Figured I should try to use all the fresh veg you bought before they go bad.”

“Great, thanks.”

He cut into it with the side of his fork and took a bite, nodding appreciatively. Hannah watched him and pushed her food around the plate.

“Thought you were just a picky eater, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

He glanced at her, then stood and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot she’d brewed.

“How do you mean?”

“The scar on your chest,” she said, watching his shoulders tense. “You don’t eat cheese or mayonnaise. Egg yolks. You alright?”

He sipped the coffee, looking out the window above the sink.

“I’m fine.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

He placed the mug on the counter and turned, crossing his arms.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She sighed and nodded toward his plate.

“Go on, it’s getting cold.”

They ate in silence as the room slowly brightened, sun hidden behind thick clouds. When they were done Hardy cleared their dishes and Hannah eyed his hair.

“Have you got time for that trim before you go?”

***

She sat him in a chair in the middle of the kitchen with a towel draped over his shoulders. Dampening his hair, she brushed it with a comb he’d packed for her and parted it neatly on the side.

“You done this before?” he asked.

She smirked, brushing his fringe across his forehead.

“There’s a first time for everything,” she said. “That alright?”

“Er…”

“Oh my god, I’m joking.” She laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Used to trim Ben’s hair all the time.”

Hardy laughed and exhaled.

“Ben’s a sodding prick, by the way.”

“You talked to him? He’s okay?”

“He’s fine. Accused me of abducting you at first, but I think he understands the situation now.”

“You spoke to him in person?”

“Yeah.”

She bent over, smothering a giggle behind her hand.

“What?” he said.

“Sorry it’s just- the thought of you two meeting…” She broke down laughing again, then took a deep breath. “I’m just sad I wasn’t there to experience it first hand.”

Hardy shifted in the chair. “You didn’t miss much.”

“I bet,” she said, picking up the scissors and moving closer. “Can you spread your knees a bit? Your legs are too long.”

He obliged and she stepped between them, bending as she began to cut his fringe. The angle still wasn’t quite right so she put two fingers under his chin so he’d tilt his face upward. He followed her wordless command and she continued snipping, gooseflesh rising each time his breath hit her neck.

Cutting slowly and evenly, she worked her way across his fringe until she had to cup his chin and turn his head to the right. She moved closer, legs pressing against the inside of his thighs, and though he shifted in his seat he didn’t move away.

His breath was hitting her collarbone now, and she realized at this angle he could probably see straight down her loose t-shirt. Swallowing, she risked a glance at his face and, while his eyes were closed, his cheeks were stained pink.

She bit her lip and smirked as she made some finishing snips, cradling his jaw to keep his head still.

When she was done she straightened and surveyed her work, pulling on random strands to check the length. She felt his eyes on her face and grinned.

“You should be able to see better now,” she said, running her fingers through his hair and ruffling it a bit. “Go look in the mirror if you like.”

He shrugged off the towel and stood.

“I trust you,” he said. “And I’m late.”

“Oh shit, right.”

He put on his shoes and she followed him to the door, schooling her face so he wouldn’t know how sad she was that he was leaving again. He reached for the doorknob then paused, turning to her and running a hand through his newly cut hair.

“Remember, don’t l-”

“Let anyone in, yeah yeah.”

He chuckled, then glanced away.

“Ehm, I’m not sure when I can get back here,” he said, looking at his feet. “We’re getting close now.”

“I understand.” She smiled and squeezed his arm. “Be safe, okay?”

Hardy nodded and gazed at her, the corner of his mouth inching upward.

Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek, her hand sliding down his arm to find his fingers. He squeezed her hand and she paused, feeling his breath on her lips and his nose nuzzling her skin.

“Hardy,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” His voice was low and ragged and it made her breath hitch.

“Kiss m-”

She was cut off by his lips, pressing firmly against hers as his free hand tentatively cupped her face. It was dry and chaste -- one of the tamer kisses of her adult life -- but it made her heart stutter.

Hardy was the first to pull back and she brought her heels down to the floor, brushing her fingertips across her mouth and blinking up at him. His cheeks were flushed.

“Right,” he said, dropping her hand and reaching behind him for the door. “I better…”

“Text me, okay?” she called after him, standing in the doorway. “Let me know you’re alright.”

“I’ll try,” he said, opening the car door. “Do up all the locks.”

“I will.”

Their eyes met over the car roof and he smiled at her, taking her in. Then he got into the Skoda and drove off just as the rain began to fall.

***

The storm lasted all day and night, rain pelting down so hard that even the sheep retreated from the field.

Hannah sat by the kitchen window and sipped tea, staring out at the muddy hillside. Something about the low-hanging clouds made her feel like the walls were closing in and she began to pace, walking laps around the house as her mind wandered.

She shouldn’t have asked him to kiss her.

By now she’d learned that relationships and her profession don’t mix, and she had no right to pull him down that inevitable path of frustration and heartache. Sure, he’d known what she did for a living from the start, but so had her last two boyfriends and, well, she didn’t like to dwell on those failures anymore.

And yet here she was again, falling for a grumpy sod who was just trying to look after her -- just doing his job. She flopped back on the sofa and folded her arms over her face, trying to will away the weighty guilt sitting in her stomach.

When she closed her eyes she felt his lips on hers, his hand closing around her fingers.

Unlike yesterday, the afternoon seemed neverending. She brewed a fresh pot of coffee and spread her textbooks open on the coffee table, but her restlessness made it impossible to concentrate.

She searched the cupboards, looking to see if there was anything she could bake, and stumbled across a half-empty bottle of vodka in the back of the freezer. Deciding to chance it, she mixed the liquor with some orange juice and drank it quickly, relaxing as the alcohol’s effects swirled warm in her chest and made her thoughts sluggish.

She switched on the TV and flicked through the channels until she found a black-and-white Hitchcock mystery, which she watched as she drank another glass, then another, until she fell asleep.

It wasn’t until the next morning that she noticed Hardy had texted around midnight.

_Making progress. Sleep well._

***

The rain had stopped and the sun was timidly peeking through the remaining clouds as Hannah sat in the kitchen drinking tea and nibbling on toast. She took a couple paracetamol to ease her headache and dressed in yoga bottoms and a hoodie.

Then she tied up her trainers, put her hair in a ponytail, and stepped out the front door.

She just stood there for a minute, hands on her hips as she blinked up at the sky and wondered just how bad of an idea this was. Surely keeping her cooped up indoors was merely a precaution -- there was no reason to suspect that Alastair’s associates knew where she was. Hardy had said so himself.

Before she could talk herself out of it she set off in a jog, planning to just do a quick lap of the house. It felt so good to stretch her legs and, though her muscles ached and her lungs burned, she decided to round the house twice, then three times, then four.

After the tenth lap she finally came to a stop, placing her hands on her head and panting. In the town below she could make out tiny people moving about, going to the shops and walking their children to school. She frowned and trudged back into the house, feeling more isolated than ever.

Hannah locked the door behind her and jumped into the shower, keeping the water lukewarm to help cool her down. Her mind felt clear -- a benefit of exercise-induced endorphins -- and she was able to sit at the kitchen table and read her textbooks for a few solid hours.

When her vision started to blur she made a sandwich and ate while she stared at Hardy’s text, debating how to reply. She sighed, annoyed that she was acting like a teenager worrying over a boy. So she quickly tapped out a message and hit send.

_Good. Don’t forget to eat._

She frowned at the words at the screen -- they sounded cold and demanding. To rectify this, she added:

_No one’s come round to borrow sugar… yet._

The texts still looked weird -- she rarely sent ones that didn’t end in ‘xx’ -- but she figured it was best to keep things professional until she sorted out whatever it was between them. She turned the phone over on the table and left it there while she spent an hour in the bathroom, practicing new eyeliner techniques in the mirror.

She heard the mobile vibrate just as she was getting the hang of winged tips. She attempted to ignore the way it made her pulse speed up and forced herself to finish the other eye before going to check the message.

_Free tonight?_

Giggling to herself, she brought the phone to the lounge and lied down on the sofa as she typed her reply.

_Suppose I could rearrange my packed schedule._

She rested the mobile on her stomach and closed her eyes, smiling as she imagined him scoffing at her sarcasm. The phone buzzed and she jumped.

_Be there around 10._

***

He knocked this time.

Hannah was tugging on her skinny jeans when she heard him at the door. She headed toward the entryway before realizing she was still in her bra, so she rushed back and threw on a vest top.

“You’re early,” she said when she finally let him in.

“No traffic.”

He stepped inside and set his keys down on the hutch, then took off his jacket and laid it over the arm of the sofa. Hannah followed him into the lounge, fidgeting with her fingers and suddenly feeling awkward.

She’d planned to casually address the kiss eventually -- weave it into conversation somehow -- but now that he was standing there she couldn’t stop the words from bursting out of her.

“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday.” She watched his face, absently pushing back her cuticles. “I shouldn’t have blurred the lines like that. Was just feeling lonely, I guess.”

Hardy nodded and cleared his throat, looking somewhere over her shoulder.

“It’s fine,” he said.

He turned and walked into the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of water from the tap. Hannah trailed behind him and lingered in the doorway.

“Do you want a sandwich?”

“Nah, I ate on the road.”

He gulped the water down and placed the empty glass in the sink.

“How’s the case coming, then?”

“Pretty good, yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “We have a- Well, I shouldn’t say.”

Hannah laughed. “Who am I gonna tell?”

“Hah, right.” He scratched at the stubble on his neck. “We’ve got a raid planned for the day after tomorrow. If it goes well we’ll have the head of the organization in custody.”

“And Alastair?”

“Already been charged.”

She nodded and bit her lip.

“You did the right thing,” he said, finally meeting her eye. “And he was going to prison regardless of your involvement.”

“I know. Still…” She took a shaky breath and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You never really know someone, do you?”

He looked at her and tilted his head, considering.

“I dunno,” he said. “Sometimes you can.”

She smiled at him.

“You never showed me a photo of your daughter, by the way.”

“Oh, right.”

He pulled his mobile from his pocket and Hannah stood next to him, watching as he scrolled through his photos and selected one of him and an indifferent teenager, both holding 99 Flakes.

“Aw she’s beautiful.” She cupped his hand with hers and angled the phone so she could see better. “You have the same eyes.”

Hardy grinned. “You reckon?”

“Definitely.” She let her hand drop. “You get to see her often?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he said, slipping the mobile back in his pocket. “She lives with my ex-wife and, er, things were tense. Before. Getting better now, though.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” She squeezed his arm. “Never would’ve pegged you for a father but now I can totally picture it.”

Hardy chuckled. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I can just imagine you scowling down at your adorable baby as you berate her for soiling her nappy.” He scoffed, bumping her hip with his, and she retaliated by poking his ribs. “Nah, I bet you’re a great dad.”

He shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

***

Any lingering awkwardness between them dispersed after that, and they settled down on the sofa to watch a Buzzcocks repeat. Hannah had showed him her vodka discovery and, after much cajoling, convinced him to let her make them each a cocktail.

It was a cold night and they could hear the wind whipping around the roof, sometimes drowning out the sound of the TV. She tucked her legs under herself and draped a blanket around her.

“They did a shit job of insulating in the 16th century,” Hardy said, crossing his arms and frowning at the walls.

Hannah rolled her eyes and scooted closer to him, spreading the blanket over his lap.

“Here, we can share.” She leaned her head against the cushion but after a few minutes it strained her neck, so she gave up and rested her cheek on Hardy’s arm. “This alright?”

“Yep.”

She expected him to stiffen or to make some excuse to get up, but he stayed put, laughing every so often at the host’s stupid jokes. After a while she felt his arm curl around her shoulders and she sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around them and placing her hand on his far hip.

It felt natural, cuddling with him like that, and even though she’d told herself they should keep things professional she couldn't bring herself to move away.

The quiz show ended and the news came on, but neither of them suggested changing the channel. Hardy’s hand slipped from her shoulder to her waist, fingers resting on the strip of skin between her top and jeans.

She curled closer to him, hand drifting up to his chest, and let her eyes drift closed. Then his fingers began stroking the skin above her hipbone, dipping just a centimeter beneath her waistband, and she flushed.

“Tell me about your scar,” she said, mostly to distract herself.

“Hm?”

She traced the crescent shape over his shirt.

“Do you have heart problems?”

“Arrhythmia,” he said, then cleared his throat. “It required an operation, but it’s under control now.”

“That must’ve been hard. Did you have anyone…”

“My friend was there. She helped me.”

“Your one friend?”

He chuckled. “My one friend.”

His fingers dipped even lower, touching the elastic of her knickers, and her breath caught.

“Hardy?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it typical for a detective to come and check on his asset this often?”

He didn’t answer right away and his hand stilled on her waist.

“Not exactly.”

Hannah pulled back just enough to look at him, to get a read on his face. His brow was furrowed and he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing.

“Does anyone know that you’ve been coming here?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then shook his head. His hand slid upward under her shirt, fingers splayed across her ribs.

He ducked his head as she leaned toward him, mouths crashing together at a speed that would have hurt if it didn’t feel so good.

It was one of those kisses where, later, neither could say who made the first move. It was a collective decision, perhaps, or maybe it was just physics, two objects in motion bound to collide.

But Hannah didn’t care about any of that, right now. All she knew is that the kiss was wet this time, his lips parted and moving slowly against hers. She gripped the collar of his shirt and arched against him, trying to get closer, and he circled her waist and pushed her back onto the sofa.

She licked his bottom lip and he groaned. The second time she did it his tongue was there to meet her, tentative and teasing until he angled his head to kiss her more deeply.

Hannah gasped into his mouth, caressing his tongue with hers as flaring heat settled low in her stomach. She parted her legs and tugged on Hardy’s belt-loops to pull him closer, and a soft sound built in the back of her throat when he rutted against her.

As soon as the noise escaped her mouth Hardy stilled. He sat up suddenly, running his hands through his hair.

Hannah blinked, reeling, and sat up too.

“You alright?” she asked.

He glanced at her, then looked away.

“We probably shouldn’t.”

“I know.” She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “We’re at risk of becoming a stereotype, aren’t we?”

“How do you mean?”

“In movies the detective always shags the asset.”

Hardy laughed. “You watch a lot of films, don’t you?”

“I have a lot of free time during the day.”

***

They got ready for bed, after that, and this time she didn’t have to talk him into sharing the bed. They moved about each other wordlessly, taking turns using the bathroom as if they’d polished their nighttime routine over decades.

“Can I have a cuddle?” Hannah asked when they were under the blankets. “That’s all, promise.”

“Go on.”

She curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest and draping her arm across his waist. She bit her lip and debated if she should ask him the question on her mind.

“What is it?” he said.

“Huh?”

“I can hear you thinking.”

She giggled, pressing her face against him.

“Well I was just wondering…”

“Mhm…”

“Were you awake this morning? Before I got out of bed.” She waited for him to answer but he just cleared his throat. “Oh my god, you were!”

“Not at first,” he said, laughing along with her. “I only became aware when you started moving away.”

“Right, sure.”

“I swear.”

“Uh-huh.”

She felt his lips on her forehead and she closed her eyes.

“You set your alarm?” she said.

“Aye.”

“You should just stay here. They can take down the mob without you, can’t they? Let’s never leave -- we can start new lives as farmers or shepherds or whatever.”

“Deal,” he whispered as she began to drift off. “I’ll buy you a pair of sheep.”

***

Hannah woke to Hardy reaching over her to grab his ringing mobile. Save for the light of his phone, it was pitch black.

“What is it?” he said when he answered. “Are you joking? Who made that decision?”

His voice was harsher than she’d ever heard it. She sat up next to him and ran a hand down his back.

“Yes, fine. I’ll be there. Call me if anything changes.”

He hung up and got out of bed, swearing under his breath as he pulled on his trousers.

“What time is it?” Hannah asked, still confused from sleep. “What’s going on?”

“They moved up the raid to today,” he said, putting on his shirt and not bothering with the buttons. “Circumstances changed, apparently. They’re going in in a few hours.”

Hannah hugged her knees to her chest.

“Will you make it on time?”

“I drive fast.”

He put his tie and socks in his pocket and stepped into his shoes, not tying them, and left the room. She hurried to follow him, rubbing her eyes.

“Wait a minute,” she said, feeling the need to stall him. “Take some food -- who knows when you’ll get to eat.”

“There’s no time.” He continued making his way to the door. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm, pulling him back to her. He took a deep breath and met her eyes.

“I’ll text when I can, alright?”

She nodded, blinking back tears. “Be careful. Go easy on that heart, yeah?”

He cupped her face and bent down to kiss her, lightly pressing his lips to hers.

“It’s almost over,” he said, then turned to leave.

Hannah stood in the doorway and watched as he sped away, spinning tires kicking up gravel. She didn’t lock the door until his headlights wound down the hill and disappeared from view.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: resile
> 
> TW: blood/injury mentions in this chapter

Hannah sat at the kitchen table and chewed her thumbnail, not bothering to turn on the light. The first timid rays of dawn were peeking through the window, but she hardly noticed -- she was too worried.

She didn’t quite know what a raid entailed -- aside from what she’d seen of crime dramas on TV -- but considering Alastair’s boss was willing to kill her for possibly snooping on his laptop, it only made sense that they’d be ruthless when faced with police force.

For some reason she’d assumed Hardy had been working the back end of the case, rather than the front lines, but judging from how quickly he left this morning it was clear he was an integral part to the operation.

She went through the motions of the day in an attempt to distract herself; she made breakfast and sat with her textbooks at the table, trying to force herself to nibble on toast and focus on the page.

After pacing the lounge for a few minutes, she climbed under the covers on his side of the bed and rolled onto her stomach, pressing her face into the pillow. It smelled like him and she smiled, remembering the way he’d held her.

She mentally ran through the events of yesterday -- the cuddles, the snog -- and it helped to calm her down. With the mobile clutched in her hand, she fell back asleep.

***

Her nightmare returned. Only this time it was Hardy trapped at the bottom of a shallow grave, fighting against an endless rain of dirt. She lay on her belly in the mud and reached down to him, screaming his name, but their fingertips only brushed against each other before the earth sucked him under.

When she woke the sun was high and her chest was burning and her cheeks were wet. She got out of bed and went straight into the shower, resting her hand on the tile wall and quietly crying into the scalding stream.

The hot water ran out quickly today, but she took her time getting dressed, falling back on the familiarity of her old routine. She dried her hair and styled some loose curls, then applied her daytime amount of makeup and dressed in jeans and a jumper, like she was going to the shops.

The mobile on the nightstand began buzzing and she lunged for it, heart beating fast.

“Hardy?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Made it with time to spare.”

She sat down on the bed, hand on her chest. Hearing his voice made the images from her dream return and her eyes began to sting.

“Good. Was worried you’d crash what with the way you drive.”

He chuckled. “I arrived without incident. Stopped for breakfast, too. I know you were concerned.”

She laughed. “Well then, now my mind is at ease.”

There was a pause and then she heard him speaking to someone else, voice muffled like his hand was over the receiver.

“Sorry,” he said. “Lot’s happening, as you can imagine. Better go.”

“Hardy?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going into the actual raid?”

“MI-5 is taking the lead, but the police are providing support.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yep,” he said. “It’ll be fine. But I have to go.”

She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath.

“Don’t do anything stupid, alright? There are all these beans in the cupboard and I don’t even eat beans.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said, laughing quietly. “But only for the sake of the beans.”

“Okay. Be safe,” she said. “Call when you can.”

“I will. Bye, Hannah.”

She hung up and started pacing again, torn about how to feel. On the one hand he hadn’t been hurt in a car crash on the motorway, but then again maybe him being in the emergency ward would be preferable to facing down Europe’s largest crime ring.

And she didn’t even want to think about the bean thing.

Needing to keep herself busy to ward off pointless worrying, Hannah dedicated herself to cleaning the whole house. She rearranged the linen closet and found an old vacuum at the back, which she used in every room, from the carpet to the curtains. After unsuccessfully searching for a mop, she scrubbed the kitchen tiles with a soapy dish towel and then washed each window with some spray she found under the sink.

All in all it took up most of the day and for a moment she felt a little less out of sorts now that everything was sparkling. She sat at the kitchen table, surveying her work with pride until her breathing suddenly grew shallow and her heart rate sped up, pumping a staccato rhythm in her chest. She didn’t know if she could stay in this house any longer.

A quick check of the mobile revealed no text from Hardy, making her thoughts more frenzied. Groaning, she stood so quickly the chair toppled backward and was so frustrated she left it there, not bearing to be in the room another minute.

She shoved the phone into her pocket and headed for the front door, deciding to go on a short walk to calm down. In her rush she tripped over the vacuum, which fell over, sending the lounge lamp crashing to the floor along with it.

Hannah glared at the shattered bits of glass from the light bulb, nails digging into her palms. She stooped to tidy the mess but her throat tightened and her eyes welled as the panic overtook her. Dropping the shards of glass back on the floor, she stood and ran out the front door.

The evening air was crisp and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she took deep, shaky breaths and began to walk. She had only intended to do a few laps of the house, but then she spotted the walking path she’d noticed the other day set off toward it instead.

The trail seemed to circle the edge of the larger field abutting the farmhouse and she followed it down the hill, warming as a result of her quick pace. By the time she reached the first corner her breathing had slowed and she was able to appreciate the beauty of the countryside, taking in the sweeping landscape with its ancient stone walls and clusters of wildflowers.

She took her time gathering a bunch to put in a crystal vase she’d found on her cleaning rampage, then continued on. At the edge of the property the trail forked, one path leading back toward the house and the other skirting the neighboring field. Not wanting to face being stuck inside again, she chose the latter.

Walking helped a sense of serenity wash over her and she felt more positive than she had all day. She let her mind wander, imagining herself on a relaxing country holiday, purposefully detoxing from the stresses of city life.

That’s when she heard shouting coming from the farmhouse.

Stopping in her tracks, she looked toward the noise and noticed that all of the house’s lights were on. She’d been so deep in her own little world she hadn’t noticed the sun had set, darkness settling around her.

The shout came again and what she heard sent her sprinting across the field, dropping the wildflowers on the dirt path.

It was Hardy yelling her name.

“Hardy!” she called as she got closer, voice cracking and strained. “Hardy!”

He was running around the back of the house, still shouting her name, when he noticed her. She continued racing toward him and he slowed to a jog, shoulders sagging.

“Sorry,” she panted when she got close enough. “I was just-”

He gripped her arms and loomed over her, face inches from hers.

“What were you thinking?” Glowering, he tightened his grip on her and she shrank back. “Where did you go?”

He released her and turned away, shoulders heaving. She reached out to touch his back but he flinched and set off stalking toward the house.

“Just went for a walk,” she said, jogging to keep up with him. “I was so anxious worrying about you -- couldn’t stay inside any longer.”

The front door was open and Hardy walked inside, Hannah right behind him. He stopped in the middle of the lounge and stood with his hands on his hips, facing the windows. Her eyes fell on the broken glass by his shoe, then the toppled-over chair in the kitchen, and she realized what he must have thought.

“Oh Hardy.” She covered her mouth, tear falling down her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

She placed a hand on his back again and when he didn’t move away she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek between his shoulderblades. She felt his muscles relax and a moment later he turned, arms closing around her.

“I thought-” he said, voice ragged.

“I know.” She tucked her head under his chin. “I can imagine. I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”

Hannah felt his cheek come to rest atop her hair and she sighed. She waited for him to move away but he continued to hold her, and she certainly wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said after a while. “My mind was running through one worst case scenario after another.”

“I’m alright,” he said. “Oh bollocks.”

“What’s wrong?”

She stepped back and saw him wiping at a trickle of blood seeping from a bandage on his forehead.

“Think I ripped my stitches.”

***

Hardy sat on the toilet lid as Hannah washed her hands and rifled through the cupboard behind the mirror, exhaling when she found a relatively new-looking box of plasters. She stepped between his legs and gently removed the bandage, then dabbed at his skin with dampened tissues so she could get a better view of the wound.

“Stitches look alright to me. You probably just irritated it running around,” she said, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Hand me one of the large plasters?”

He searched the box as she ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing his fringe away from his face.

“I fell,” he said.

“What?”

“They had rigged the warehouse with explosives and we only realized seconds beforehand. As we were running from the blast I fell.” He grimaced, then pointed to his temple. “That’s how I got this.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed, blanching at the thought of him being in that sort of danger -- she could’ve lost him.

“That sounds less like falling and more like nearly getting blown up.”

He shrugged and handed her a rectangular bandage.

“We got him, though. The man in charge. The bastard killed half of his own men in an attempt to get away, but MI-5 captured him anyway.”

She nodded and smoothed the plaster on his skin, frowning when he winced.

“So it’s over.”

“It’s over,” he said.

His voice was soft and, somehow, she couldn’t bear to look at his face. She tossed the tissues in the bin and moved to place the plaster box back in the cupboard.

“It’s over and the world is a little bit safer now,” Hardy said, stopping her with a hand on her wrist. “You did right by those women in the lorry, Hannah.”

She bit her lip and glanced at his face, then looked away.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “You alright?”

Hannah rested her hands on his shoulders and met his eyes. At this angle their faces were nearly level.

“Yeah, I’m just… God.” She glanced upward, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to feel. I’m so relieved that it’s over -- that you got the bad guy, that you’re okay -- but I also…”

“What?”

Resting her head against his, careful to keep away from his stitches, she stroked the nape of his neck. He sighed and tightened his arms around her.

“Just… not ready to leave just yet.”

“It’s late,” he said, tilting his head and brushing his lips against hers. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”

She smiled and kissed him back.

“Really?”

He nuzzled her cheek and gave her another innocent peck.

“Yeah. We can stay the night.”

“Okay.”

Kissing him again, she leaned into his chest, then followed his guiding hands and sat on his lap, knees bumping the side of the counter. He cradled her back and ran a hand up her thigh, their lips coming together slowly and sweetly.

For a moment Hannah felt like this was enough, that they could happily snog in the loo until the sun came up, but then his tongue slid into her mouth and his hand inched under her jumper and the heat that she’d been stamping down for days plumed in her gut.

She gasped into his mouth and he squeezed her waist, thumb ghosting over the fabric of her bra. The reminder of the wide span of his hands made her shiver.

“Wait, wait.” She stood and gazed down at him, noticing his parted lips and hazy eyes. Taking his hand, she pulled him up. “Come here.”

They kicked off their shoes and lay on their sides in the middle of the bed, sharing gentle kisses that quickly escalated. His hands were under her top, again, and she tugged his shirt from his waistband and dipped her fingers beneath his undershirt.

She ran her hand across his abdomen and lingered on the trail of hair beneath his navel. He groaned and arched toward her palm just as his hand cupped her breast.

Swallowing back a moan, Hannah rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, sitting just south of where he wanted her. She peeled her jumper off and unclasped her bra, tossing it aside. Then she set to work unbuttoning Hardy’s shirt while his hands found her waist again, slowly gliding upwards.

“God, you’re…” he said when she reached the top button.

“What?”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her face as his hands found her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. She gasped and closed her eyes, mind foggy with the heat shooting through her. When she opened them again he was smiling, and she knew what he’d meant.

Hardy sat up long enough to pull both shirts off and then she pushed him down again, sliding forward and moving her hips over his growing erection. He fumbled with the fly of her jeans as they kissed wetly, sloppily, and Hannah had to move her mouth away when his hand slipped inside her pants.

“Fuck,” she gasped, grinding down on his fingers and against his cock.

Her mind traveled back to the moment they first met, when she sized him up and determined he’d make for a decent shag. And here they were, still in their trousers, and he was already exceeding her expectations.

His fingers slid along her, spreading the building wetness. He teased her entrance, heel of his hand pressing against her clit, and she bit down on his shoulder as they moved in tandem. After all this pent-up flirting and frustration and adrenaline and wanting, it was only a few minutes before she was close.

She took a deep breath and sat up, pulling his hand away. She wasn’t ready to come just yet.

Kneeling, she managed to shimmy out of her jeans and knickers and help him to shuck his trousers and pants. She moved to sit on his knees when Hardy gripped her hips and tugged her forward. She hesitated, but he raised his brows and she caught on, breath quickening as she straddled his shoulders.

Pulling her closer, he kissed a trail up the inside of her thigh and she gasped, unable to stop the tremble in her legs. Then she felt his tongue on her, teasing along her slit, and she angled her hips and pressed herself against his mouth.

He hummed against her and honed in on her clit, setting up the same rhythm as he had with his hand. Hannah bent over and gripped the headboard, trying to keep her hips still as he lapped at her with increasing pressure.

She ventured a glance down at him just as he closed his mouth around her and sucked, and the sight of his flushed cheeks mixed with the new sensation and she plummeted over the edge, rocking against his face as she cried out and clenched around nothing.

Climbing off him, she rolled onto her back and panted.

“Holy shit,” she said, and he laughed. “That was…”

Hardy smirked, wiping his mouth on his forearm, and started to lean over her, but she pushed him back.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, sitting up. “After that, I have to return the favor.”

She grinned at him and settled on his knees, stroking his length and watching his eyes fall closed.

She bent to suck him, tasting his pre-come and slowly taking him in. She felt his hand brush against her hair and she reached out to hold him against her, letting him set the pace.

“Hannah.” He groaned as her tongue traced his vein, fingers teasing his sack. “St-stop. Stop.”

Hardy pushed her away with a hand under her chin and she blinked up at him, swallowing at the needy look on his face. Placing her hands on his chest, she slid forward until she was over his cock, swiveling her hips back and forth so he’d slip between her folds.

She teased him for a moment, reveling in his slack-jawed expression and the way his fingers dug into her hips every time she slid over his tip. Soon she grew impatient and lifted up, positioning him at her entrance. She was beginning to sink down on him when she remembered.

“Shit,” she said. “Condom.”

“Oh. Er...” Hardy’s brow furrowed, then he reached for his trousers dangling off the side of the bed. He fumbled for his wallet and dug inside until he produced a shiny, square wrapper. “Here.”

She took it and began tearing it open, then paused.

“How old is this?”

He frowned. “Not that old.”

“Sure?” She bit her lip and rolled it onto him.

He scoffed and then his eyes narrowed. “Are you having me on?”

Smirking, she rested her hands on his shoulders and lowered herself onto him, closing her eyes as he stretched her.

“Couldn’t resist.”

She giggled as she kissed him, pressing her chest to his as she worked her hips in an easy rhythm. He gasped each time she took him further, fingers digging into her waist when he was as deep as he could go.

She couldn’t keep her pace slow for long, though, and soon she was frantically rutting against him and whimpering into his neck. His hands moved down to her arse, gripping her flesh and helping her lift up and plunge back down.

“Fuck,” she moaned, voice catching at the back of her throat. " I’m- _fuck_.”

She panted as her movements grew choppy, tugging sensation building in her stomach. Then Hardy’s hands gripped her shoulders and she gasped when he flipped her onto her back, then whined when his cock slipped free.

He eased back inside her, trace of a cheeky grin on his face, and began pounding into her. Resting his cheek on her shoulder, he kissed her neck, then sucked, and she felt the tendrils of her orgasm begin to gather again.

“Close,” Hardy groaned, slamming home even faster. “Are you-?”

All she could do is nod, eyes squeezed shut as she clung to him, knees pulled up toward her chest.

Propping himself on one arm, he squeezed her breast and dragged his hand lower until his fingers found her clit. Hannah swore and arched against him, panting sharply.

“Yesyesthere, _unh Hardy_ , fuck.”

He pulled out nearly completely, then drove back into her, and she shattered. Throwing her head back in a quaking moan, she clenched around him, shaking when he stiffened and groaned.

Sighing, he paused long enough to press a few lazy kisses to her lips before rolling over to toss the condom in the bin next to the nightstand. Hannah pulled back the covers and they both cuddled beneath them, curled up together and stroking each other’s skin.

Hannah leaned back to look at him.

“Plaster held up,” she said, tracing the bandage. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Nothing hurts.”

She giggled and nuzzled against his chest.

“Shit,” she said. “It happened.”

“What?”

“The stereotype thing.”

He chuckled. “I’m okay with that.”

“Oh shit,” she said again, whining.

He grinned and tickled her ribs. “What now?”

“I forgot to lock the door.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, pulling her close. “We’re safe as houses.”

***

It was drizzling when they finally drove away from the farmhouse the next morning, but both of them were smiling as if the sun was out.

Once Hardy shifted into fifth on the motorway Hannah covered his hand on the gearshift. He glanced at her and turned his palm upwards, lacing their fingers together and resting his hand on her thigh.

They didn’t talk much and their conversation fizzled out completely when they started seeing signs for London, delivering a harsh reality check. Traffic began to pile up and Hardy had to let go of her hand to downshift.

When they parked outside her house neither moved to get out of the car. Hannah crossed her arms and looked at the white building, wondering why she had wanted to get back here so badly.

“Hannah.” Hardy cleared his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Her stomach dropped at his words, ones she usually heard from clients at the end of the appointment. She turned away from him, blinking back tears. Maybe all last night (and this morning) was to him was a freebie -- a sample before buying the real thing.

“How do you mean?”

She heard his seatbelt click and the creak of leather before he rested a gentle hand on her neck.

“Thought perhaps you could come round to mine. For dinner.” She exhaled and glanced at him. He was smiling shyly. “You cooked for me so many times. Thought I could return the favor.”

Turning back to him, she stroked his jaw and grinned.

“No,” she said.

“What?”

“You don’t even iron your shirts!” She laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You can’t be trusted to cook a meal. Sorry, but it’s true, you know it is.”

He laughed loudly, running a hand down his face.

“Can I take you out to dinner then?”

“Yes,” she said, tucking her chin against her shoulder. “That you can do.”

He cupped her face and kissed her, and she could feel the smile on his lips.

“I better check in at the station,” he said when he finally pulled away. “Pick a place and text me. I’ll try to get out by dinnertime.”

“No rush,” she said, gathering her bags and stepping out of the car. “I keep odd hours.” She was about to shut the door when she heard the flutter of paper.

“Wait, you forgot these,” he said, handing her the bundle of love letters that had fallen out of her purse. “What are they?”

She took them from him, fingertips brushing, and smiled.

“Two lives about to start.”


End file.
